Toshizō had decided to let that slide for the time being, so as to not (further) complicate things unnecessarily. He'd thought that a chat with the ringleader would make obvious some sinister plot, but the truth was that it had done nothing to clarify his standpoint. He never felt that Tōshirō was on either the defensive or offensive, as if he too were an unbiased bystander conducting his own investigation. Toshizō couldn't fully believe his theory, but he was starting to believe that Tōshirō's men were just as much in the dark as his own.

The combined forces of their two small groups were waiting when Toshizō returned to their makeshift jail, an empty twelve-mat room at a far corner of the compound. "Well?" asked Kondō-san.

Toshizō rubbed the back of his head with some diffidence; as if on cue Tōshirō appeared in the doorway behind him, puffing at his cigarette. In a tight-lipped murmur he greeted his comrades: "Hey, bitches."

Kondō-san's eyes widened for a moment before he nodded. "Well." Then he chuckled quietly, hands at his hips. "I suppose we can untie them, at the very least." Sanosuke dutifully went to work, leaving Souji with mouth agape.

Their young Yamazaki was first to win freedom. "Does this mean you believe us?" he asked urgently, watching as Toshizō and Tōshirō sat down among them.

Next freed was Kondō-san's double. "Don't bank on it," said Sanosuke smilingly. "All it means is he doesn't see you as an immediate threat. I doubt he'll let you go so easily."

He reached for Sougo's ropes, but Tōshirō stayed him. "Not that one."

Sougo's eyes lifted to him with a violent calm, but Sanosuke laughed and worked the knots out of his binds. "Sorry, I don't have the space in my heart to take orders from more than one Hijikata."

"Fine, s'my funeral."

"Damn right it is," said Sougo, palms massaging around his mouth. "By the way. Jii-san, there's something wrong with your face."

Souji had been suspiciously quiet, but chose not to address it. "You're still calling me that?"

"We're both Okita. We need some way to distinguish between us, Jii-san."

"He has a point," said Toshizō. "Regardless of the truth, they go by the same names we do. We have got to make some agreements on what to call whom if we intend to have any meaningful discussion."

Tōshirō grunted. "We wouldn't even be having this conversation if this thing were written as a screenplay."

"Souji and Sougo have different given names," said Sanosuke. "What about the rest of you?"

That's right; the others had been either resting or on guard duty, so only Toshizō had heard all their names. "Hijikata Toshizō," he began.

"Hijikata Tōshirō."

"Kondō Isami," said Kondō-san.

"I'm Isao," said the other.

They all frowned and stared at their laps. Hearing them side-by-side was quite striking. Slowly, Toshizō's doubt was being chipped away. Tōshirō and Sougo were sharp men; if they were really going to impersonate the most infamous officers of the Shinsengumi, they wouldn't have been so ill-informed as to adopt glaringly inaccurate names. The other two—they just seemed too soft to attempt such a ploy, and yet too integritous to be bullied into it. However . . . the kanji for Isami could also be pronounced Isao.

"How is Isao written?" Toshizō asked, tilting his head.

"The character for merit. Why?"

He frowned; Kondō-san's was courage. "What about Tōshirō?"

"Ten—four—son."

Nothing in common with his own. Still. . . . "Mine's got three in it. . . ."

Tōshirō frowned now. "I don't think math is going to help you here."

They found that Souji and Sougo shared their first kanji and diverged on the second, so there was no consistency in the differences. Could it truly be coincidence—however striking or suspicous—or were their names the result of intended wordplay?

No, no matter the differences in their given names, there was no reason for all their family names to match. It was certainly no mere coincidence, and that left few alternate explanations, none of which were desirable.

Toshizō looked up when he realized the room had been quiet for some time; it was probably the severe angles of his own face that silenced them. As if to confirm, Tōshirō tilted his chin at him. "Something going on in there?"

"Just . . . considering."

Kondō-san looked at each of them; sensing too much tension, he turned to his kindness to settle the room. "Well, if they aren't strictly prisoners, that makes them guests, and guests require tea. Sanosuke, would you mind?"

"Are you sure?" he stuttered, glancing reflexively at Souji, who seemed instantly offended but kept his mouth shut, gods be praised. Toshizō pierced them with a warning glare, but already Tōshirō's eyes were narrowing. This guy was far too insightful for his own good.

For his part, Kondō-san continued casually, only smiling at this exchange without a hint of alarm. "Agh, don't worry. The three of us can handle the situation here." Sanosuke shrugged and Tōshirō relaxed at the calm tenor of his words; whether Kondō was consciously keeping calm under pressure, or whether it was just his dumb innocence, it didn't seem to matter.

While Sanosuke made his graceless exit, Kondō-san steered the conversation onward, gently elbowing the unfamiliar Yamazaki. "What about you, son? What's your given name?"

His mouth fell into a small pucker. "You have a Yamazaki too?"

"Indeed. His name is Susumu."

"I'm Sagaru! Is he a spy too?"

"Yamazaki!" Tōshirō spat. "You can't just ask them something like that!"

"Sorry. . . ."

Kondō-san laughed in that warm way of his. "It's alright, Tōshirō-kun."

"Besides," he continued, "you're barely a spy. How many episodes have you been seen in doing actual work?"

"That's kinda mean, fukuchou. I'm a great spy," he informed Kondō-san. "See this face? Easy to forget."

"Well yeah, in a world of a Only Six Faces."

"Fukuchou! I'm being serious." He sat back, pouting. "Being ordinary is my only skill compared to you guys."

Even Souji seemed to pity the kid. "Don't worry, our Yamazaki is plain too."

He glanced up, mumbling. "Really?"

"He ought to be back soon, right?"

"If all goes well," said Kondō-san, before giving a great sigh. "What do we think, then? First-name basis?"

"Still might not hack it," said Tōshirō. "The rōmaji for our given names still look pretty similar, from an audience standpoint."

"Would you cut that out?" Toshizō said bitterly. "If you desire continued freedom, make an effort to say things we find comprehesible."

"How can I possibly know what you'll understand and what you won't, unless I test the waters a little? I have to find the boundaries somehow."

"I'll give you bounds."

"Okay, Mom, but I still think it'll be more productive to let me—"

"Or binds, if you prefer," he said, through his teeth this time.

"Mom." Souji sniggered quietly to himself. "I'm totally calling him that."

"I'm still going with danna," said Sougo.

Tōshirō made an exasperated noise. "How is this helpful if we all choose different nicknames for each other?"

"You're just mad because I w—"

"I'm lucky enough that you tack san on after my name. I know my limits."

"Nevertheless," said Toshizō, "we really must settle on something consistent."

"Hang on," said Sougo. "If he's Jii-san, and you're Kaa-san—"

A sudden rapping on the sliding door kicked Toshizō's anger level up yet another notch. "That had better not be Yukimura."

Kondō-san laughed nervously. "Of course not, it was Sano's task, he wouldn't. . . ."

Sougo's eyes were trained between the two of them. "Nnn? Who's Yukimura?" he asked casually, though the sharpness in his eyes had an edge of malice.

"That's hardly your business," said Toshizō. He glanced at Tōshirō, who had seemed eager to control Sougo at every turn—but he was sitting with arms crossed below relaxed shoulders, peering at Toshizō with one brow raised, that fucking cigarette silently smoldering.

There it is again. These men seemed distant on the surface, even hateful of one another, but were bound as if by a hidden string. Prod any one of them, pull one in any direction away from the others, and the string was suddenly visible, snapping up taut and strong between them. It was eerie, in a way, and dangerous—insinuating themselves as they were into their good graces with personable banter and self-deprecation. Toshizō felt uncomfortably . . . surrounded.

Kondō-san was visibly relieved as the door slid open and Sanosuke let himself inside, carrying a large tray of tea-preparing essentials. "That's why you came back so soon."

"There was already water boiling. Thought it might be best to return quickly and make it here."

"And why did you knock first?" Toshizō asked slowly.

He shrugged. "Guess I just wanted to make sure I wasn't interrupting an orgy or something." Upon receiving seven hard stares, Sanosuke laughed. "What? You all—well, my guys at least are pretty full of themselves. What I've seen, you're awfully similar. So . . . joke." He tsked nervously and approached Toshizō's perch at the head of the room. "I'll just set this here, huh."

"You really think that of us?" Kondō-san asked, looking more than a little hurt.

"Yes absolutely."

"You want to treat them like guests," said Souji, "don't let Hijikata-san near that tea."

He pulled the tray closer. "Shut up."

While he set to mixing the infernal green powder, Kondō-san nudged Isao. "You've been quiet. What do you think?"

He gave a hesitant grunt and cleared his throat. "My men might have trouble calling me anything but Kondō. Same with yours, probably."

Kondō-san grinned to himself, seeming impressed. "True."

"I give no hoot," said Sanosuke, "I'll call him Isami. It's a good samurai name, anyway, makes sense walking around under that banner."

Isao made a strained face, as if thinking wasn't something he did very often. "What if we had team names? Or we could make up our own honorifics."

"What do you suggest?" asked Kondō.

"Oh I don't know. Toushi's better with this stuff." Both Hijikatas glanced up. "Long o," he clarified.

"Two Kondō-sans," Toshizō sighed, head spinning at this terrifying thought. "How will we know which one is meant?"

"Depends on who's doing the talking," said Isao. "You people don't think of me as Kondō, so if you say it, I'll know you mean Isami."

"And you'll just use first names with each other?"

"Sure."

They hashed out a few more rules, tea was distributed, and Tōshirō grimaced at the cup in his hand. "What's with this stuff? It's mostly water."

His three companions took tentative sips and subsequently frowned. They looked up at Toshizō expectantly.

He clicked his tongue in irritation. Was this really so important? "We have . . . trouble with bitter tea. We've resigned to using less in our attempts to avoid undesirable outcomes."

"What you're saying is, you suck at matcha."

Toshizō's back stiffened. "Perhaps you've had more free time to perfect the Way of Tea?"

"If it makes you feel better, danna."

"Why does he get to be danna?!"

"That settles it then," Sougo continued, unhindered. "We'll call your team haku. Because of the weak-ass tea you guys drink."

Souji was skeptical. "Wouldn't that be more like usui? For weak tea."

"No," said Sougo, "I think haku sounds cooler."

"Yet it implies that we are weak."

"But it's actually referring to the tea. Clever, right?"

"As long as we may call your group tama," said Toshizō coolly.

Tōshirō sputtered an unsmiling laugh. "So he does have a sense of humor."

He shook his head, perhaps too emphatically. "For these light bulbs you wer—"

"It's because we're annoying as balls," sighed Tōshirō, "and yeah, we're fine with that."

"We've been called worse," Isao added. "Gah, it's like he can almost see the fourth wall."

"I know it, he's so close." He stared down into his cup. "It's still kinda bitter, though."

Toshizō bared his teeth but was prevented from tearing him a new one by another quiet rapping on the door. "Goddamn it. What."

The voice on the other side was low. "It's Yamazaki. At your convenience I can rep—"

"Get in here."

"Sir."

He slipped inside silently as he unknotted his head guard—must have returned quite recently—and his brows knit when he saw Souji. "Okita-san—you really shouldn't be up." Souji's eyes positively grilled him, but faced with an unfamiliar audience, Yamazaki didn't seem to notice. (Tōshirō, however, did.) "What is all this, fukuchou? Who are these men?"

"It's a long story. You're better off not knowing."

"Then why did you allow me inside?"

"I can't have people hanging about in the hallway here. How did you know where to fi—nn, don't answer that."

Yamazaki frowned, shifting uncomfortably. "Why is he looking at me like that?" Toshizō followed his gaze to Sagaru, whose unblinking expression was frozen in several conflicting emotions.

"Because you're ninja as fuck?" Tōshirō offered.

"I'm not a ninja," Yamazaki said quietly, face flushing with anger.

"Oh, please," said Sagaru, laughing mirthlessly. "Plain, my foot. Look at him! He's so . . . cool." His bottom lip quivered; apparently disappointment had bubbled up above all the other emotions. "I hate this, I want out."

Tōshirō clicked his tongue. "If we could just go, I'd have—"

"No, screw that, I want out of here. I want to go home, now."

"We all do, Yamazaki, we just haven't figured out—"

"If any of you were half as smart as you are mean, we'd—"

Toshizō summoned his fukuchou voice to halt them: "That's enough."

"Yamazaki?" mumbled Yamazaki.

"Yes," Toshizō breathed, "it's a common name, isn't it? Now scurry along before you hear anything else you really don't want to hear."

"Sir."

"And don't be seen," Toshizō added desperately, though the kid was already out the door. He exhaled heavily. "You people are a menace on my health."

"Come on," said Tōshirō, "you let him in here in full shinobi regalia, what did you expect?"

Not that, certainly. Their bickering hadn't sounded rehearsed, and a few of the phrases that had slipped suggested that they really didn't understand how they'd be getting home. Toshizō glanced over at poor Sagaru, rocking slowly forward and back with narrowed eyes, contemplating his situation in life. There was reason enough to trust in him, at least.

Suddenly Souji sat up. "I know exactly how we can settle all this."

"Don't wanna hear it," said Toshizō.

Kondō-san ignored him. "What is it, Souji?"

He plastered on one of those fake, impish smiles. "A duel."

A/N: Courage (勇—the spelling for Isami) and sincerity (誠—the character on the Shinsengumi banner) are two of the seven virtues of bushidō.